<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>get under your skin by sosobriquet</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255653">get under your skin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosobriquet/pseuds/sosobriquet'>sosobriquet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cowboys &amp; Cowgirls, Established Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Pick-Up Lines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:47:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosobriquet/pseuds/sosobriquet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley interrupts Aziraphale's ride with questionable pick-up lines.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Can't no preacher man save my soul</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>get under your skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/gifts">cassieoh</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/gifts">D20Owlbear</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callus_Ran/gifts">Callus_Ran</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale is just about done putting Moiselle through her paces, meant to check her responsiveness and fitness both, when a shout rings across the previously empty arena. He pulls her up and she slides to a neat stop, smoothly rolling back to face the way they’d just come, and the source of the voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon?” Aziraphale calls out, seeing only a dark figure, partially obscured by the dust he and Moiselle had kicked up. He makes a mental note to remind the manager that the outdoor needs watering to knock the dust down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice rings out again, and this time Aziraphale recognizes it easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley bellows at him across the empty space, “Did it hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt?” Aziraphale shouts back, wondering what on earth has gotten into Crowley. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’</span>
  </em>
  <span>s the one who tends to get hurt, not Aziraphale!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you fell from heaven, angel!” Crowley answers, too far away still for Aziraphale to see his cheesy smirk. (Un)fortunately, Aziraphale has no need to see it to know that it’s there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than dignify such nonsense with a response, Aziraphale rolls his eyes and returns to working Moiselle, but his heart is no longer in it. Hers isn’t either, after the appearance of Crowley, she appears quite convinced that Work has ended. Aziraphale gives up on finishing the workout he had planned. It’s not worth fighting with her when they were almost done anyway, and it is always best to end on a good note when working with horses, so he lets her shuffle down to a lazy walk to cool down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Crowley continues to holler </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> pickup lines in his direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're finer than a frog hair, darlin’!” Aziraphale snorts in response, sitting back to bring Moiselle to a stop. He lets her stand for a minute, counting her breaths. Still too fast. He asks her to walk on with a quiet click of his tongue, and a light touch of his lower legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I may ride the broncs, but you know I’m no 8-second-man,” Crowley calls out, a little quieter, as Moiselle swings closer to his end of the arena. Aziraphale steers her away again with a light touch of his leg on her side and his hand on the reins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks her to the other end and lets her turn back toward Crowley (and the trailer) in a haphazard circle. Her breathing has slowed already, but Aziraphale stops her in the middle of the arena to dismount. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Do you raise cattle?” Crowley shouts as Aziraphale swings a leg over and drops to the ground. “‘Cause those are some nice calves!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his face into Moiselle’s spotless white mane and groans. “What did I do to deserve this?” he asks his horse, and anyone or anything that might be listening. Moiselle only heaves a great sigh, but she always does that after some exercise, so it’s hardly an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley watches with a pleased grin as Aziraphale loosens Moiselle's cinch, still ignoring him. There's something about getting under Aziraphale's skin that makes him feel giddy as a child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, Aziraphale turns and starts towards Crowley where he stands at the railing. He's got one foot propped on the bottom rail, and his arms crossed over the the top one, his long spine curved into in his trademark slouch, and he watches Aziraphale approach hungrily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he gets closer, Crowley's grin widens briefly, then schools itself into an alluring smirk. "Hey, beautiful," he says, voice pitched low, "you wanna two-step into my bed?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shoots him a glare, stage-whispering back, "It's</span>
  <em>
    <span> our</span>
  </em>
  <span> bed!" He's not really mad, Crowley can tell by the blush rising on his cheeks, and the way he can't quite stop the corners of his mouth from twitching into a small smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Aziraphale's almost to the rail, Crowley's all out of lines. It's too hard to recall such nonsense with the object of his affection so close, every silly, corny thing he'd planned to say drowned out by </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good god, he's gorgeous </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>How lucky I am to know you and I love you more than I know how to say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting his hand on the rail at Crowley's elbow, Moiselle's reins in hand, Aziraphale leans in close. Crowley's heart stops, then starts again in a furious rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale says softly, touching the loosely bound copper curls at Crowley's temple. He follows the upward sweep of his french braid with both his fingertips and his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his fingers bump against the underside of Crowley's hat, black and just as busted up as it's owner, Aziraphale's eyes shift to Crowley's face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is smiling, the lines on his face soft and happy, not hard and worried, or angry. Aziraphale pushes up slightly, making the hat move on Crowley's head, and the corner of Crowley's mouth lifts just a little more. From this close, Aziraphale can see the slow blink of his eyes behind his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sliding his hand up to the crown of Crowley's head, Aziraphale knocks the hat loose. It falls but doesn't hit the ground, caught by the thin leather thong around Crowley's neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're pretty as a picture," Aziraphale says softly, dropping his hand back down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Crowley's ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley's face grows hot at the compliment, and he knows all too well how obviously pink his cheeks must be without his oversized sunglasses to hide behind. Not one to be outdone, he hooks his fingers in Aziraphale's bolo tie, pulling him in closer, until he's pressed against the fence Crowley has been leaning, ever so casually, across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like a paintin'," Crowley murmurs, meeting Aziraphale's smiling eyes with more confidence than he feels. "Y'know, the kind y'see in churches and the like. With saints and angels and even the almighty hisself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale's breath catches at Crowley's particular brand of … flattery. "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>tempter,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he whispers intently, leaning closer still, eager to see if Crowley will take up the slack where he still holds Aziraphale's bolo tie in the palm of his hand. Where he holds so much more than a piece of silver with a cross picked out in turquoise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> it," Crowley says, taking up that slack; not pulling Aziraphale any closer, but holding him steady, holding him close. He lets his mouth curl into a wicked smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Aziraphale corrects him, one hand holding the top rail to steady himself, the other sliding beneath the weight of Crowley's braid to wrap, gently, around the nape of his neck. He leans across the last inches between them, knuckles white and aching from his death grip on the rail, and presses his lips to Crowley's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley melts against the fence, swallowing a whine he hopes was too small, and too short, for Aziraphale to hear. His knees wobble, threatening to dump him into the dust, and he grabs a fistful of Aziraphale's vest to hold himself up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beautifully tanned leather is soft as butter beneath his hand, but it has nothing on the softness of Aziraphale's lips, the warmth of his breath against Crowley's cheek. He’d climb the rails right now to get closer, if he were physically capable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale licks into Crowley’s mouth, tasting the familiar sweet sharpness of bourbon, the hint of smoke beneath. Not the thick reek of cigarettes, but cleansing like a brushfire; dangerous and aromatic. He shifts his grip on the railing to Crowley’s bicep, lean and wiry like every square inch of the rest of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Crowley that pulls away first, breathless and flushed. “Hurry up and get Moiselle taken care of, angel,” he murmurs into Azirphale’s ear, “and then you can have your turn.” He lets go of the bolo tie and steps back, leaving Aziraphale reeling and holding onto the top rail again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley walks a few backward steps away from the arena, flashing one of his trademark smirks, before turning on his bootheel and walking purposefully toward their shared trailer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/pseuds/cassieoh">cassieoh's</a><br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036020">Twilight’s Dome of Fretted Gold</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforeCrimson/pseuds/D20Owlbear">D20Owlbear's</a><br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929088/chapters/54806977">Two Horses Passing in the Night</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://ran196242.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9D">Callus Ran's</a><br/><a href="https://ran196242.tumblr.com/post/613213330015961088/ran196242-ran196242-an-illustrative-piece-for">gorgeous art</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>